


Straker's Black Sheep

by animefreak



Category: UFO | Gerry Anderson's UFO
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:46:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animefreak/pseuds/animefreak
Summary: Ed learns more about the black sheep of the family. Some things run in the blood.





	Straker's Black Sheep

Ed returned from his meeting with the General … General Retired and now head of the IAC, feeling depressed. As usual, Henderson had fought every funding request he had, including the hundred pounds in the budget to improve the coffee maker in the cafeteria. Compromises were made on most of issues, but it took far longer than Straker expected and he was aware of a nagging headache just behind his eyes. Finding hot soup and a sandwich, along with a thermos of hot, light, sweet coffee made him frown, although he wasn’t entirely certain he wasn’t grateful to whoever left it for him.

As he ate, he read more of the journal. Just before the end of the war, Captain Straker found another alien kill. This time it was a ragged squad of Rebel soldiers, unarmed and headed home by the look of it. Four Negroes were among the dead, one of them a well-dressed woman of middle years. James thought someone saw them go through the bodies and ready them for burial, but they were intent on granting some dignity to the murdered and he did not investigate. 

They should have stopped to find out who it was. Charges of murder were lodged against Straker, Stone, and Orton. Realizing halfway through the investigation that there was no way to fight the charges, the three took to their heels, fleeing West through Oklahoma and into the Arizona territories where they now worried about Indians, bandits, carpet baggers and the occasional Union troop that might recognize them as wanted criminals. Straker regretted the need, but the knowledge of what was out there drove him on. 

‘Looks like obsession and being driven runs in the family,’ Ed thought. For three years, Capt. Straker and a small band of like-minded men roamed the American West, tracking alien kill sites and occasionally fighting them off, saving lives. 

The Captain added drawings to his written entries, starting a second journal in 1868. The ships looked much as Ed knew them. The suits seemed unchanged also, arguing that the aliens had developed their technology and settled into a pattern that was still used. That the aliens had been coming to the Earth for more than a hundred years, harvesting organs and using technology that Earth was only just becoming capable of understanding. 

For most of the second journal, spanning about five years, James Straker and his men puzzled about the aliens, coming up with theories. An odd middle European joined their group after nearly losing his life to the aliens. 

“Bogoescu. What a name. Says he comes from someplace called Wallachia. I don’t recall the place from my studies, but the dark areas beyond Europe were not accounted necessary knowledge when I was a child. Dr. Ciprian Bogoescu. Lucky man. The villains were starting the cut to break open the chest cavity when we arrived. He will bear a scar, but at least he is alive. His accent is sometimes difficult to understand, especially when he gets excited. I believe he wishes to join us once he is healed. He also became very excited about one of the native tribes in the area. Stone finds him easier to understand than I do. We are already six in number. To retain more people may put us at a disadvantage, both against the enemy and the law. Still, to turn away a man of learning and knowledge goes against the grain. Sometimes I wish I had never laid eyes on one of their massacres. God help us.”

James’ sketch of Dr. Bogoescu was startling. The face on the page reminded him forcibly of Alec Freeman. Ed flipped through the pages curiously. Strange indeed. Stone looked much as Ed thought Keith Ford might have in that earlier day and Herrick bore a striking resemblance to Doug Jackson. William Firth, George Rathers and Charles Goode were all strangers. Dr. Boesky’s theories and ideas became prominent in James’ writings.  
Just after the turn of 1870, the American alien hunters found a slaughter in southern Wyoming Territory. As they were setting about dealing with the bodies, a bloody woman launched herself at them from tall grass. Stone pushed her away, but it was James who finally caught and subdued her, taking the Bowie style knife away from her.

“Katiit Páh saw the aliens land and kill her people. Why I was surprised that Bog could make himself understood to her, I do not know. He is an encyclopedia of languages; he picks up words as sponge does water. Her husband and son were in the party leaving her no one to return to. She traveled with the party to visit another family member, but the village moved and they did not know where the others went. For now she is alone. I do not know what to do. To travel with us is dangerous, but her people do not treat their women as fragile things to be protected. The dangers are not so frightening to her. Now that she knows that the aliens are not spirits, she wishes revenge on the evil beings who slew her men. She is quite blood thirsty. She is also quite beautiful. I had never thought of a native woman this way, but I begin to see why other men have fallen for their charms and their strength.”

Eight against the aliens. Ed sat back in his chair contemplating his Great-great-great-grand Uncle … at least; he thought that was the relationship. Anthony and Andrew Straker had been much younger half-brothers of James Edward. Too young to take part in the Civil War. What was it the South called it these days? Ah yes, the Northern War of Aggression. Redundant. War is aggressive by nature. Seven men and one angry “savage”. He allowed a grim smile to cross his face. Katiit’s inclusion must have changed the group dynamics greatly.  
He stretched, glancing at his watch. Damn, when did it get to be so late? Alec looked in with a raised eyebrow. 

“Didn’t think you were still here. What’ve you been up to?”

“Getting to know my family better,” was Ed’s somewhat cryptic answer. He pulled on his jacket and overcoat, sliding the journals into a pocket. “All quiet?”

Alec nodded. “Paul’s on duty. Col. Lake is finishing up some re-wiring with Ensign Gill’s help. No blips on any radar. Go get a good night’s sleep, for once.”

They walked out to the car park in companionable silence, each entertaining his own thoughts. Alec climbed into his sensible vehicle, watching Ed get into his gull wing door sports sedan with a shake of his head. For all Ed tended to remain basic about things, the need for speed was still there. Straker’s care was an aerodynamic form built to exceed most speed limits. Luckily, its driver generally only flew when there was an emergency. 

As Ed drove home, he turned over what he’d learned. The sketches in the journals identified the aliens as the same ones he now dealt with. It was a little spooky thinking that a family member stood in his own position in that time period. Although, that wasn’t exactly the correct evaluation. Capt. Straker’s group fought a war on a very limited level, and one they had no hope of figuring out or winning. As hard as Ed’s lot was, at least he had more than a handful of dedicated men and women to help him. The war was still defensive, but they would find a way to take the fight to the opposition, sooner rather than later. 

After a quick dinner of soup and sandwich, Ed sat down with a cup of coffee and a cigarette to finish the journal. As he suspected, without a way to predict where the aliens would land, it was impossible to do more than clean up after them and store information for someone to use at a later time. He wished the journals had fallen into his hands sooner, the data, while limited to the scientific knowledge of the time, supported Henderson’s fears and his own contention that the aliens were not a new threat, but an ongoing one. The journals pegged it as generational as far as humanity was concerned. 

“I suppose it was inevitable. We’ve been tracked down by a bounty hunter, two actually, hired by some woman back east. We’ve achieved a stand-off in a ghost town of sorts. Don’t know the name of the place. I’ve tried to get Katiit and Bog to leave. They are not involved in the crime the hunters want us for. Indeed, only Stone, Herrick and myself are on their list of criminals, but given the type of men that usually take up the profession, I do not fool myself that they will not kill or take prisoner all of the people with us. Guilt by association. Katiit is hardly human to those who earn their living this way. I must find a way to protect the others.”

Captain Straker was a man of strong convictions and attitudes that were not yet fulfilled, even today. Ed quickly read the rest of the entry. Sarah Josephine Henry had hired the bounty hunters, given them a full description of the three men and set them on the trail with the stipulation that they not kill their quarry until she arrived. Miss Henry was not the protected Southern belle of the pre-war South; she was a blood thirsty “modern” woman. The two forces managed a stand-off until she arrived a few days later. 

“I have never seen this woman before. She is quite lovely, in spite of wearing men’s attire; her pale hair is pulled back in a severe braid, her face touched by the sun to a golden color and her eyes are the blue of the sky overhead. Still, I cannot see why she chases me. Is it only because I am ‘the enemy’ or is there something more?”

Something more, it seemed. Lt. Isaiah Henry was one of the presumed Rebel deserters James and Stone found in the clearing. Lt. Henry was also Sarah’s younger brother. Presumably, James tried to explain, backed up by his people. Miss Henry was not inclined to listen.

“We were dead. I could not in all conscience take Stone and Herrick into custody with me and the lady was disinclined to let the others go free, prating about the bloody trail we left on the landscape. As all seemed lost, we hear the sound that brings our hearts into our throats and looked up. An alien craft hung in the sky. She demanded to know what trickery was this, what charlatanry that put such a stupid thing in the sky. It spun; wailing as they are won’t to do. The sound is maddening. Then the light sprang from some hidden aperture on the craft, destroying a building. Thankfully, the driver of this contrivance had no idea where we were and harmed no one. 

The vehicle landed in the center of town, kicking up dust and dirt before settling down. We were all armed, Katiit bearing two knives in her desire to kill the beings she knew would spew forth from the craft. Two of the red suited creatures stepped forth, one carried the rifle we recognized, the other held a box with a strange twirling item on top. It scanned the area with the box. The twirl slowed, stopped and another beam emanated from the box, disintegrating one of the men with Miss Henry. She shrieked in horror and fell back with the other man, taking shelter in the building behind her. 

The creatures moved forward. They missed us entirely, or did not feel we presented a threat to them. They learned their mistake immediately as we opened fire on them. We were profligate with our ammunition, bullets sponging off the metal craft where it sat. It is a wonder none of the ricochet’s found a home in one of us. They fell in the dirt, green fluid from their suits and blood seeping into the dust beneath them. We took cover and waited. Sometimes the vehicles hold more than two of the creatures. This one did. A third poked its head out of the opening, saw the dead and pulled back in. 

Bog dashed out to the thing as the opening closed, tossing something into the interior and then running as if his life depended on it, throwing himself into the building where Miss Henry and her remaining employee hid. The craft lifted from the ground and wobbled as an explosion shook it and great gout of flame broke through its skin. Spewing smoke, it continued to lift into the sky until a hundred feet or more above us it flew apart, fragments flying in all directions. I was not aware of being hit by debris until Katiit was above me, tears in her eyes and telling me in flawless English that I was not to die, not to leave her alone. “

After the experience, Miss Henry listened to James’ explanation of what he and Stone found, that they were not the murderers, just the men who found and dealt with the site. Turned out the Negro woman had been Miss Henry’s governess, the woman was much loved by the young woman. The family had felt it would be safe to send her and some of her family to bring Isaiah home when he was wounded. 

The final entry was dated 1871. Captain James Edward Straker and Katiit Páh were married in a small church in New Mexico before celebrating the joining in the manner of Katiit’s native tribe. In the back was a picture, undated, of seven men, one native woman and a dead alien. Ed almost laughed at the “hunting party” pose. The man behind the woman was tall, blond and weathered looking, but recognizable as a member of the Straker family. Bog stood to his right, Stone to his left; the other’s fanned out on either side. It looked like they continued to survive. He tucked the picture back into the journal. Tomorrow he would send the books and picture to be archived, both physically and electronically. 

Midway through the next morning, Meg Gill materialized in his office. The petit Ensign no longer regarded him with dread, or so he surmised as she set down a cup of hot coffee and told him she was there to collect the document. In handing the journals to her, the picture dropped out of the back. 

“What’s this? Oh, cool, a … I know this photo.” She sounded a bit poleaxed by the recognition, looking at Ed and then back to the picture. “OK, gran’s doesn’t have a dead alien in it. Wow. A dead alien,” she repeated. “Great-great-granddad hunted aliens?”

“You know this picture?” Ed retreated to the first comment.

“Yeah. Gran’s got a couple like this.” She pointed to the man and woman. “Gran’s grandfather and grandmother on her mom’s side. Captain James Edward Striker and Katiit Pash Striker.”

“Straker,” he corrected her. 

“What?”

“His name was James Edward Straker, second son of Jordan Michael Straker. He’s the black sheep of my family.”

Meg’s jaw dropped only to be swiftly recovered. “You’re kidding … No, you wouldn’t. Straker, not Striker. You’re sure?”

“Those are his journals. I think he would know his own name,” Straker told her dryly.

She blushed. “Uh … yeah. I would think so. Damn. We’re related? Don’t worry, I won’t say a word. Totally zipped, sir. And I’ll get these to archive immediately, sir.” She scooted out of his office so swiftly he had no time to reassure her, even if he wasn’t entirely certain what she needed reassurance about. 

Family. 

He turned his attention to the reports in his in box.


End file.
